A Little of This, A Little of That
by OpheliacAngel
Summary: Hope was the only thing that drew Merrill to the experiment. As far as Marty was concerned, Merrill had enough hope for the both of them in that area, but he would carry the weight to keep her right where he wanted her. Written for h/c bingo for the May Amnesty Challenge, for the prompt 'forced to face fear.'


**Title:** A Little of This, A Little of That

 **Author:** OpheliacAngel

 **Characters & Pairings: **Merrill/Marty, Dr. Murdoch, Karl, Essie

 **Genres:** Angst/Romance

 **Rating:** Teen

 **Summary:** Hope was the only thing that drew Merrill to the experiment. As far as Marty was concerned, Merrill had enough hope for the both of them in that area, but he would carry the weight to keep her right where he wanted her.

 **A/N:** Written for h/c_bingo for the May Amnesty Challenge, where we are given four prompts to choose from or combine and must write for a rare/small fandom. I chose Vampire High, a TV series that is little known of but really drew me in. I used one out of the four prompts: 'forced to face fear.' This is set after the events of 'Lost Weekend.'

* * *

" _I could never want you."_

She said it to him because she knew it would hurt him, even when it seemed like nothing could underneath that wise guy exterior, but if he could see the truth in her eyes then he would know the statement was a lie. She could want him, if she allowed herself to. If she got Drew out of her head for good, which she had taken the night off for, to contemplate whether she wanted to forsake the ingrained knowledge within her that Drew was her One. If Marty was patient with her, far more patient than he had shown to be by joining her, and if he continued to try to better himself then Merrill would keep waiting.

The Experiment _had_ changed him. When Marty first formally entered their new home he would never have given Merrill a second glance, let alone allowed her to feed from him when she faced death in the reality of blood deprivation, eventual coma and death.

He never should have stayed behind with her. Merrill had needed time to think about things, to write out her emotions and her thoughts, and Marty quite loudly reminding her of his presence in the room made things all the more harder for her. Because Marty was a part of herself that she didn't want to face.

How could she ever be drawn to someone like him? Someone who clashed with her personality, who grabbed everything she stood for and believed in and ripped it to shreds. How could she trust in and have feelings for someone so loud and obnoxious and hopeless and infuriating? She knew that Marty had more to him, deep down, things that he hid from the rest of them, but she had never cared to get her hands dirty and find them before.

What made that night so different?

Merrill couldn't bring herself to admit that her drifting away from Drew and her confusing feelings for Marty were tied together somehow, and also that they had been happening steadily for weeks. What didn't make sense was the interest Marty so blatantly had in her. How could she, in any way, shape or form, appeal to his 'care not, want not' sensibilities?

The fear she had had to face in that room had been mainly in herself. The fear that she did love Marty. The fear that there was a part of herself that she had never accepted but that she had to now, before that part ate her alive. The fear that she, strongest of them all in will and hope, would feed on the human regardless.

The fear that Marty would die in her arms, and that there would be nothing she could do to stop it.

She had fed, cold gush of blood moistening her lips and coating her tongue. Merrill had felt _him_ , had felt his sacrifice in her very bones, and even though his blood was cold his spirit was hot, pulsing against her teeth telling her to take more, telling her that he loved her. Nothing else he could have done would have made her believe it more. Not the way he had looked at her earlier that night: so open and honest, so weak. Not his words or his arms holding her. Just his blood and the way he gave it so freely.

The strength she had found in herself then had far outweighed the weakness she felt by giving into his offering of blood and feeding. Merrill had not drained him to the point of death, she had been able to come down and support Marty as he slipped down into the clutches of unconsciousness.

Merrill had held him so tight too, fearing someone would take him away from her. She willed him to live as they laid there, Merrill desperate and Marty out, and not like he had been before. At least before - the first time he had passed out - he had been restless in sleep, yet now he seemed even paler than usual, and he was unmoving and silent and Merrill could hardly tell whether he was still alive or not.

By the time Dr. Murdoch had come back to find them she had been half out of her mind with fear, paralyzed in the spot she had hid in, hell-bent on protecting Marty if Dr. Murdoch tried to take him away from her, tried to tell her that it was too late, that he had come five minutes too late.

Her eyes screamed desperation though, and the doctor had hurried to get the human taken care of before rushing over to Merrill and her latest victim. Marty didn't respond to Dr. Murdoch's ministrations, and he didn't register the first bag of blood brought to him either. There was much more coaxing from him before Marty started drinking, but he _did,_ and Merrill's near hysteria tapered out so she could easily feed on the bag of blood Dr. Murdoch had brought her without shaking hands.

All the time she had been screaming the same words over and over in her head, trying to reach out to the other vampire.

 _Oh, Marty, I could want you. Just keep trying... please._

The words remained in her head when Marty returned back to his usual self, and even though Marty was oblivious to her musings as he gulped down his breakfast, she noticed that his guzzling was less fervent than usual.

Merrill smiled and relaxed, seeing the change in him like a fierce infra-red being underneath his skin.

* * *

Recuperating from that night alone with Merrill took longer than he would have liked.

He initially planned to offer Merrill his next ration, but Dr. Murdoch stamped down that urge as soon as he had voiced it, and boy, did that put a damper on his spirits. The good old Dr. Murdoch warned him that he was still close to death's door, and would continue to be until his body returned to its normal state and no longer believed he was continuously going through withdrawal in a false attempt to shut his body down. Whoa, what a mouthful that was, and it wasn't something Marty liked to think about. The thought didn't matter much anyway though, both he and Merrill were receiving double rations for the next few days.

It was a little under a week until he was back on his feet again. He slept for most of the time, on Murdoch's comfy couch in his office since the doctor wanted to keep an eye on him. He would usually wake up to find Merrill tapping his cheek lightly, holding a bag of blood in her slender hand, smiling down at him and he would wonder if he imagined her soft fingers brushing against his forehead, making him grow sleepy when he was finished feeding.

There wasn't a feeding period where she wasn't there, but she never drank in front of him, so she must be doing it somewhere alone. Marty felt drugged because he was so tired all the time, and Merrill would fade in and fade out repeatedly, but Dr. Murdoch would sit with him before breakfast and run tests on him and always assure him that his body just needed time to heal. He believed him because he was scared, he also believed him because Merrill would want him to.

Whatever she wanted.

The sound of Dr. Murdoch writing usually was the only thing that grounded him and kept him awake. Like clockwork he would write in that journal, probably terrible things about them all, but oftentimes he would look up and smile at Marty, and Marty knew there was not a bad bone in his body, like they used to say. He was protected here and he started to feel at home too, lying on that couch and staring up at the ceiling for countless hours. Waiting to join the others again. Waiting for Merrill.

The staying behind had been some less than brilliant ploy to get Merrill to notice him and maybe even to like him. He hadn't expected it to go where it did, but he felt good about the part he had ended up playing. He didn't know when he started putting Merrill first and himself last, but he kinda liked the new him.

Merrill. Shy, quiet, oftentimes 'brooding just as much as Drew' Merrill. Merrill, who had long, dark, _soft_ hair and big eyes that seemed to take him in all at once and small, slender hands and always a harsh word for Marty.

What was there not to love?

It never occurred to him that he was screwed, that bookish Merrill could never go for a guy like him. Drew was her type, but Marty hated the way he brushed her off as if she were no more than a gnat. Why couldn't the girl see it, see how he was treating her and get out? Even Marty would never treat Merrill that bad. And the more he thought about it the angrier he got, until he just couldn't picture seeing Merrill with anyone but him ever again, until he had to get up, go out there and save Merrill from Drew and from herself.

Easier said than done.

The girl just didn't know how to let go; moreover, she didn't want to see Marty in any other light than the one that he had so persistently cast himself in. Sure, it was all Marty's fault, but if quiet, brooding Merrill couldn't think enough to look past the part he always played then what hope really was there in the first place?

He wanted to ask Dr. Murdoch what to do; he wanted that more than anything.

But the doctor merely glanced down at him with a smile and said, "Patience, Marty." He must have meant the other thing, the whole "recuperating" thing, but Marty suspected he meant something else too: his heart's desire.

If he wasn't lying to himself about having a heart.

* * *

The others seemed _off_ his first day back, as if they really had missed him in his absence.

Marty laid it on thick, wanting to go right back to where he had left off, but he could tell he wasn't fooling anyone. Not anymore. No, the bad boy Marty had come face to face with death himself and told him to fuck off. Word must have also spread that he gave Merrill his blood to keep her alive, which meant the others wouldn't hate him as much as they used to.

Darn it.

"You okay, Marty?" Karl asked him, concern written all over his face as the four of them made themselves comfortable around the table and started on homework. It wasn't as if Marty had been quiet as Dr. Murdoch started his lecture. When was he ever? But even he knew the words had fallen flat and came out after he bit his tongue for a good long while. He wanted to show Merrill that he had changed, that he had the nerve and dedication in him to be different. To be better.

Whether she would believe it or not was another, more important question.

"Better than new," Marty boasted, swinging himself up onto the table and lying on his stomach, disrupting Effie's carefully stacked papers and even more carefully aligned number two pencils.

Essie scoffed and continued painting her nails, but she did spare him a glance that seemed a little less haughty than usual. "And back to his old antics, I see."

He grinned cheerfully down at her. "Aww, Essie, don't keep telling everyone that you missed me or anything like that."

There had been no 'shut ups' or snappy retorts when he started up with his usual complaints earlier that morning; everyone seemed to be on their tip toes around him. It should have disgusted him that they were taking it easy on him, but the more he started to realize that Karl, Essie and even Drew were his family, then the easier he could fit into Merrill's life. Plus, getting cut some slack wasn't the worst thing ever.

Essie shot him a glare, but she smiled slightly too and though it was more like a smirk, Marty would take whatever he could get. "Glad you're okay, Marty. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a date with Rambling Red." She shook a bottle of cherry red nail polish in front of his face obnoxiously then flitted off to her room. Karl glanced after her in longing before treating to his own respective room and coffin, leaving Merrill and Marty behind. Finally.

"So," Merrill switched her chair so that she was no longer near Marty's feet but his head. "Any plans for the essay?" He had a feeling that the shy smile she was showing him was an indulgent one, completely created, but when he stared at her intently it didn't fade.

Maybe it wasn't so fake after all.

He couldn't quite snap out of his reverie yet. Damn, she was beautiful, even just sitting there. Just sitting there staring at him and so clearly neglecting her own homework. He really did like this side to Merrill.

If she could turn him good, then he figured he could turn her just a little bit bad.

"Well, figured I'd brainstorm first, you know, jot down some ideas. Then I'll see where something takes me." He smacked his lips dramatically and rubbed his belly. "Hungry now though. You think if I ask Murdoch...?"

"Yes," Merrill cut in. "You're already well aware that you still get extra rations for two more days. Just tell him that you're feeling lightheaded."

Did he just hear that correctly? He really didn't overestimate himself. "Why, Merrill, I do believe I've been a bad influence on you." He knows there's a dark side to Merrill, one that's violent and rebellious and even vicious. He had run into her that night and had been scared to death by her, but knowing that dark part of her was there didn't drive him away. He needed her now, needed the hope she had in him and in the Experiment.

As far as Marty was concerned, Merrill had enough hope for the both of them in that area, but he would carry the weight to keep her right where he wanted her.

She smirked and smacked him in the arm with her notebook. "I can afford it, given you were able to afford getting drained dry." And the tension was up and running between them again with that. He sat up, head in his hands in frustration, fearing he was already starting to brood again and brooding wasn't his game. She had to know that. She had to know how much her words had cut him, the vehemence behind them, that she could never want him. Never was such a strong word, never wasn't a word he'd ever use. She had to know how bad he wanted her. When he turned, he found that she had crawled up onto the table and now sat next to him, feet tucked underneath her, hand on his shoulder. "Marty..."

He bit his tongue to stop himself from screaming. "Let's just drop it, Merrill. I don't regret what I did, and I'd do it all over if the need ever arises again. You're important to me. I don't know if you..."

"I do." She shook her head and looked away, and Marty was almost positive that Karl and Essie were eavesdropping on them, waiting for them to just start kissing already. "I just hate it."

He quirked his eyebrows, "You hate the fact that I care about you?"

She shifted until she was as close to him as she could get without being in his lap. He remembered the distinct image of her standing over him, fading in and out, holding a bag of blood out to him, sending him to a less than troubled sleep with her fingers massaging nice, slow circles into his temple. A dark angel. A looming wraith in the night, intent to remain by his side. "I hate the fact that you caring about me means you being almost dead."

"Well, get used to it cause I'm a changed man, Merrill."

"You are," she admitted, the fear thick in her voice. Marty wanted to take her in his arms and hold her, but she told him not to hold her before. He would wait forever if he had to, as long as she was ever shifting too, getting used to the idea of him. To the idea of _them_. "You're one of the best men I know, Marty. You saved my life. And I owe..." He placed a hand over her mouth - covering her delicate lips - to stop her. He didn't want to hear the words 'I owe you.' It would make this all the less real and genuine and he _needed_ real right now. Merrill tried again, but her words didn't seem to flow any easier this time. "How are we going to make this work?"

"Oh, I don't know, a little of this and a little of that and I think this partnership will work out just fine."

Merrill laughed and hugged him, placing her head on his shoulder and gazing up at him with those big eyes of hers. Marty realized that he could probably drown in them and never even realize what was happening at the time. Maybe she wanted him to. "Partnership, huh?" The amusement in her tone couldn't be missed, but Merrill wasn't mocking him. Not this time.

"Well, what else would you use?"

Her fingernails bit into his shoulder and he definitely felt queasy now, but it wasn't due to lack of blood. He was getting dizzy just thinking about what was in Merrill's head and what she was about to say next. "How about relationship, Marty? If what you say is true, that the last thing you would ever want to do is harm me, then that also means you want to make me happy, don't you? So how about I give you a chance?"

A chance, huh? He was surprised he wasn't flat on his back in shock yet. He swallowed thickly, Merrill's piercing eyes cutting through the clouds in his vision. "I won't screw this one up, Merrill."

"I know."

She had faith in the world and in the Experiment and she had faith in him too. Really, what more could a guy ask for?

 **FIN**

* * *

 **Background:** You can watch all the fairly short episodes of Vampire High on Youtube, which I highly recommend. It centers around a group of five vampires that are part of the Mansbridge Experiment, which is a program designed to tame their vampiric instincts and essentially make them more human so that they will survive in a world that hunts them. Dr. Murdoch, who oversees the Experiment, also runs a prestigious high school upstairs filled with human students, thus making the Experiment all the more harder for the vampires. The series is fun, thought-provoking and oddly enough, addictive, and while the characters may seem cliched at first, they not only surprise at times but also evolve as characters, thus the short-lived series leaves in its wake the sense of being rewarding; or at least for me.


End file.
